


I Do It All The Time

by 221blackandwhitestripes



Series: Gotham Season 5 Fics [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Inspired by Music, M/M, Post-Season/Series 04, Short One Shot, Snakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 02:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15571455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221blackandwhitestripes/pseuds/221blackandwhitestripes
Summary: A little idea of what exactly Hugo Strange has in store for Ed, and what could happen when he wakes up.





	I Do It All The Time

**Author's Note:**

> Because I've been listening to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3tmd-ClpJxA) too many times.

His eyes open and the world is real again. Tile ceiling, strapped down arms. Like that could contain him.

 _Do you know who you are?_ A voice asks.

Edward smirks.

_Yes, I know who I am._

Edward’s tongue twists out of his mouth, hissing as it slips back inside.

His bones have changed and he likes it.

_What is your name?_

Again; a smile. It curls his lips wider than ever before, stretches and flattens his face.

_My name is Edward Nygma. But you can call me…_

Curls his fingers, claws digging into the surface below. He’s ready to pounce.

_...The Riddler._

It’s lights, flash, muscles rippling like a smooth wave, claws digging in, fangs piercing flesh. A tug; blood spills, and it’s done.

 _Riddle me this,_ Edward hisses. _Long slim and slender; dark as homemade thunder. Keen eyes and peaked nose; scares the devil wherever it goes._

Edward leans in, his fangs descending even lower over his thinned lips.

_What am I?_

Strange gurgles, eyes wide with fright. Edward merely laughs before breaking his neck in two.

“Ed?”

Edward snaps, spins, hisses. 

Oswald.

His voice had been clearer in some way. Edward wonders why.

“Ed? Is that really… Are you still… _you?_ ”

Ed laughs again, something stirring in stomach way below at the way Oswald's eyes flash with a witch’s concoction of fear, caution and defiance.

Always the brave one.

 _Oh, I **see** ,_ Edward hisses, laughs, cackles. _You’re looking for the **other** me. The **old** me. Well…_

Edward laughs again, feels his bone twist inside, snap apart then snap together. He’s changing.

_I’m sorry, Oswald. The old Edward can’t come to phone right now._

Oswald’s eyes widen, just a fraction, but infinitely satisfying. 

_Why? **OH!**_

He sets his jaw and grips his cane and Edward is ready for the challenge.

_Because he’s **dead**!_

Edward laughs and laughs and laughs.

His stomach rumbles and he’s suddenly _starving_ , brain morphed by a consuming, gluttonous need to feast, devour, destroy. He blinks down at Strange’s blood, half pooling on the hardwood floor, half already soaking into the Egyptian rug.

Without shame, he leans down and drags his finger along the hardwood, swirling the prongs of his tongue over the digit with groan-inducing pleasure. He kneels, laps at the ground, ravenous and uninhibited.

“Ed?” Oswald sounds so firm, and Edward would laugh if his mouth wasn’t full. “Ed, you need to control yourself.”

 _ **Control** myself?_ Edward hisses, contorts, snaps. _Oh, Oswald, isn’t that what drove us apart in the first place? Me doing what I was supposed to do rather than what I wanted to do?_

Oswald’s eyes don’t flicker, he’s not surprised by this statement.

_(He knows too much)_

“What?”

 _I don’t need to control myself anymore, Oswald. I’m **free**. I’m powerful. I can do anything I want,_ Edward hisses. _Starting with you._

“Really?” Oswald raises a pretentious eyebrow and it seethes like a spitting flame.

 _I know who I am. And I know how I’ve held myself back, all those **times** , from taking what I wanted. I want this city to know my brilliance, to quake at it, to know me as the man bested by no one,_ Ed hisses, fists clenching, claws scraping scales. _I want blood pooled in the palms of my hands, running down my throat. Oh, how I shiver for it._

Edward shivers now, skin moving, bones snapping out of place, into place.

_And I want you, like I’ve always wanted you. But I intend to acknowledge it this time._

“Ed, please,” Oswald begins.

_(Don’t call me that)_

“If you can remember so much about yourself, then you also have to remember the rest of you. The real you.”

_(He’s right, he’s right, he’s right)_

_Look, Oswald,_ Edward hisses, stalks forward, lets his tongue slide out to run along scales. _You only have two choices here. Pick one or the other, there’s no in-between._

“What are my choices?” Oswald asks cooly, calmly, too cool, too calm.

Like a switch flicking, he pounces, claws digging into Oswald’s delicious, sultry flesh as he pins him to the wall. Blood is trickling from the wound now, and it smells heavenly, deeply heated lust pooling low in his gut, the desire to devour stronger than before.

 _You can live. Let me have you, just like you’ve always wanted,_ Edward hisses, bats his eyelashes sweetly. _Or you can die, alone, with my teeth in your neck._

Like gravity, Edward is pulled closer, his body pressing against Oswald’s, _hungry_ , unsatiated, desperate.

 _Make a choice,_ Edward hisses, whispers in his ear, tongue running along the edge, hungry.

“Ed-”

_(I told you not to call me that!)_

“I know you.” Stops, annoying pause like his body can’t move, Ed’s gut wrenching, his heart twisting. He was _feeling_ again. He spat it out, blew kisses at the blood splatter on Oswald’s face. 

“Ed.” _(Riddle me this: What belongs to you, but I bet your angry mother uses more?)_ “My _Enigma_.” _(I hurt without moving. I poison without touching. I bear the truth and the lies. I am not to be judged by my size. What am I?)_ “The Riddler.”

Oswald looks at Ed like he loves him, and it _hurts_.

“I know you’re still in there. You’re still the same person,” Oswald sounds like he’s pleading, and that can’t be right, until Ed remembers that Oswald’s life is in danger and he should be kneeling if he wants his begging to be convincing enough. “Kill me if you really want to,” he wants, wants, _wants,_ but he doesn’t want _this_. “But remember; you couldn’t do it the first time.”

He wants. _(I **want** )_

“You have to fight this, Ed. I need you-”

Sometimes, lights are too bright, sometimes the person Ed trusts least is himself, and sometimes impulses are supposed to be given into.

Whatever words left hanging in Oswald’s mouth are quickly swallowed down Ed’s contorting throat, swept away by his forked tongue and crushed between sharp fangs.

He kisses him. It’s like that’s all he really needed.

“Ed?” Again, that un-phrased question.

“It’s really me,” he says, because it’s true this time.

Oswald breathes out, sighs, relieved.

“Oswald, I-I’m scared.” Sincere confessions are hard to come by, they live in the dark room of a Catholic church or in these empty spaces where feelings overwhelm and the end is creeping in.

“Don’t worry,” Oswald assures him. “This is Gotham. There’s always going to be another sociopathic, half-crazed killer scientist around the corner.”

Don’t they know it.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was a little exercise to get me in the writing mood while I finish some other things. What it is I'm finishing will be revealed soon enough :)


End file.
